


Safe Haven

by usuallysunny



Category: American Horror Story, American Horror Story: Apocalypse
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst and Fluff, Coven!Michael, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Road Trip, Smut, Two Shot, Witch Hunters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-13
Updated: 2018-12-13
Packaged: 2019-09-17 06:32:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16969485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/usuallysunny/pseuds/usuallysunny
Summary: In which Michael is assigned to protect Miss Robichaux's most valuable witch.A road-trip with the antichrist turns Mallory’s black and white world to a complicated shade of grey.





	1. Part I

Michael Langdon is the most infuriating person Mallory has ever met.

She’s young, inexperienced in the ways of the world, but she’s pretty sure she hates him. He’s arrogant, quippish, aloof… she doesn’t trust him. He might have the other witches wrapped around his finger but she’s stronger than that.

She’s the next _fucking_ supreme, after-all.

She’s stronger than impeccably tailored black suits and a jawline that could cut glass. She’s stronger than sunshine curls that fall over bright sapphire eyes and a shark-like grin that he hurls as a weapon. He reduces the girls around him to putty in his hands, but she’s not for moulding. She’s made of a different material entirely.

From the passenger seat, she watches as his knuckles turn white from gripping the steering wheel so hard. His rings glitter in the glow of the New Orleans setting sun and _okay,_ she’ll admit, he has nice hands. The thought of where they’ve been, though - the giggles that come from his room at night and the sound of dainty footsteps sneaking out - has that thought flying out of her head with a scowl.

She didn’t speak to Zoe for two days after she assigned him the room next to hers.

But _that,_ she thinks, is all in the past now. Insignificant. A lump rises to her throat and she blinks back the hot tears that suddenly sting behind her eyelids.  The Academy, the Coven… all memories that will surely fade as fast as the white house in the rear-view mirror.  It’s just a dot on the horizon now as Michael Langdon does his duty and drives her away from the only home she's ever known.

Mallory stubbornly turns her head to look out the window as the first tear falls.  
  


* * *

   
“You’re sending me away?”

There are many things Mallory was prepared for Cordelia to say when she called her into her office – an appraisal for an expertly mastered spell in class yesterday, a reprimand for clumsily spilling soil in the greenhouse and forgetting to clean it up, a slap on the wrist for irritating Michael again – but _that_ shocks her to the core.

Cordelia smiles at her from across the desk, but there’s no joy in it.

“The message Queenie sent is clear.” She references the older witch’s undercover mission, “The witch hunters Marie Laveau hired to destroy us… they’re coming and they won’t stop until we’re all dead. I can hide some of us, protect the girls as best I can… but if I fail, the only way to secure the future of the Coven is if you survive.”

The unfairness of it all weighs Mallory down.

“But _you’re_ our leader.” Her breath snags against the rising panic and she tells herself to stay strong. “I’m not ready. I never wanted to be the supreme.”

“Tough luck, bitch.” Madison Montgomery snipes from beside Cordelia, arms crossed over her chest. “ _Want_ has nothing to do with it. So, fix up and fall in line because we’re all depending on you.”

“Tactful as ever, Madison.” Zoe pipes up this time, trying a different approach. “Mallory, you need to be strong.  We’re out of time and we’re out of ideas. Hopefully this is all just a precaution. We’ll get you somewhere safe and when the time comes, we’ll bring you home again.”

A smile tugs at the corners of her lips but it doesn’t reach her eyes. There’s a horrible sensation in the air, a foreboding feeling that this isn’t going to end well.

A vision of the Academy in ruins, power drained and blood splattered all over the white walls, assaults her before Mallory can stop it. She bites back the fear that rises as bile from the back of her throat.

“Where am I going?” She asks quietly, resigned.

She would do anything for the Coven, for her sisters. It goes against every instinct she’s ever had, but if that means running away, so be it.

“I don’t know. I don’t _want_ to know.” Cordelia answers, seriousness etched on her soft features. “We’re assigning Michael to get you as far away from here as possible. I’ve told him to just drive and to keep driving until he hears from me.”

Mallory’s stomach drops to her feet.

“ _Langdon_?” She practically whines. “Why him?”

Deep down, she knows she’s being a brat. Michael and Kyle are the only men at the Academy, the Coven’s watchdogs, though she knows how much Michael despises that title.

“One of the boys needs to stay here.” Cordelia answers. “We’ll need the muscle.”

“And if I’m to die…” Zoe starts, quirking a brow. “I’d quite like my boyfriend by my side.”

“ _If_ that’s okay with you.” Madison sarcastically adds.

Mallory shrinks in her seat.  

“Alright…” She whispers quietly, a sense of dread stirring in her stomach. “I wish I could stay here and help you guys… stand with you… but I understand what I need to do. I’m not happy about it though.”

“I’m not exactly buzzing at the idea myself.” Comes a dry voice from behind her.

Michael steps into the room, brow characteristically arched and hands clasped behind his back.

Mallory shoots daggers at him, her dark eyes narrowing.

“If we die…” Cordelia begins, her expression hardening, headmistress-mode activated, “…the future of the Coven rests on your shoulders. I don’t know what’s with you two and I don’t care. Put aside your petty rivalry and work together. Our entire race depends on it.”

Shame colours Mallory’s cheeks and if she didn’t know any better, she’d swear she saw a flicker of it on Michael’s face too.

On shaky legs, she rises to go and pack.

When she walks past Michael, his hand darts out like he’s reaching for her.

“Don’t touch me.” She whispers under her breath, through gritted teeth.

He pauses and his brow quirks before he slowly grabs what he was going for: the door handle. He turns it and it opens with a click.

His expression is deadpan when he tells her not to flatter herself.  
  


* * *

   
“Will you stop snivelling?” Michael reprimands, voice dripping with distaste as his eyes remain focused on the road. “Aren’t you supposed to be the second most powerful witch in the world?” 

Mallory sniffs, clenching her jaw.

“Fuck off, Langdon.”

He laughs throatily, causing her to quirk a brow. In the four years since they’ve known each other, she can probably count on one hand the number of times she’s heard him laugh.

“Ooh…” He taunts, the cheek facing her dimpling as the corner of his mouth twitches into a smirk. “Tough talk for such a little girl.”

“That’s rich. What are you, like, 2?” She sneers, referencing the freaky advanced ageing she’s heard so much about.

That grants her another smirk.

“Something like that.”

She rolls her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Where are we going?”

His stoic expression returns, all signs of mischief wiped away. “It’s better if you don’t know.”

Mallory looks out the window again, stretching her neck to see the sky streak orange and red. She wonders when the sun will set and why there’s no clock in Michael’s car. She thinks about her sisters back at the Coven, then she sees an image of their broken and bruised bodies flashing before her eyes and suddenly, she can’t think of anything at all.

“I’m scared.” The whisper flies out of her mouth before she can stop it.

Michael arches a brow, his gaze flitting to her. His normally icy eyes are darker than usual, shining with something she can’t put her finger on.

“I know.” He says simply. 

He returns his gaze to the road and the silence is deafening.    
  


* * *

  
They drive for what Mallory can only guess is around three hours before Michael wordlessly pulls into a gas station.

He orders her to wait in the car, sliding out the driver’s seat and tossing his keys in his hand before reaching for the gas pump. The click of the latch as he locks her in has her rolling her eyes. When she glares at him out the window, a deceptively charming smirk is the only response she receives.

She tries to keep her mind blank as he fills the car up, knowing the alternative – letting it wander – would be too much to bear right now.

When she comes back down to Earth, she notices that Michael’s gone. Her stomach rolls and her skin prickles. Nervous, she glances around, but it’s dark now and she can’t see a damn thing. Her hand darts to the door handle and her frustration peaks when she can’t open it. The asshole has put the child locks on.

She’s contemplating using her powers to blow the door off when she catches sight of a blonde mop of hair inside the gas station. She sits back in her seat, a sigh of relief falling from her lips.

When he returns, sliding into the driver’s seat and throwing her a questioning look, she bites her tongue and keeps her expression passive.

The click of a lighter brings her attention back to him and she gapes, stunned, as the small flame engulfs the end of his cigarette. 

“Are you kidding me?” She fumes, angrily brushing away the cloud of smoke that he blows in her direction. “What sort of _moron_ lights a cigarette at a gas station? You’re supposed to be _protecting_ me, not blowing me up.”

He simply throws something into her lap in reply.

Confused, her gaze flitters down.

A packet of Reese’s Peanut Buttercups stare back at her.

“These are my favourite.” She says, voice lined with suspicion as she looks at him.

The cigarette hangs from his mouth, caught between his teeth, as he puts the car into gear and heads for the road again.

“I know.”  
  


* * *

  
“Michael?”

“Hmm?”

“I can’t sleep.”

“I noticed.”

Mallory turns, shuffling the motel’s uncomfortably crisp sheets. She sighs in exasperation as they tangle around her legs and she angrily kicks them off. She glares at where he sits in the corner, moonlight streaming in through the window and illuminating half his face. She’s irrationally annoyed by how perfect his jawline is and she sits up against the rickety headboard, crossing her arms over her chest.

“How am I supposed to sleep with you watching me?”

He quirks a brow. “It’s my job.”

“Well, it’s annoying.” She sniffs, her own brows drawing into a frown.

“So are you, but I don’t judge.”

She sends him a sarcastic smile, throwing her legs over the side of the bed and standing up.

“I’m hungry.” She declares. “And I’m sure you’re bored of staring at me. Let’s get something to eat.”

He shrugs softly, making a hand gesture that seems to say _by all means._

She pauses and looks at him for a moment before sighing and following the flickering light that leads to the tiny bathroom.

Clad in the sleep shorts she’s had since she was a kid, she pretends not to notice him checking out her ass.  
  


* * *

   
“So if you’re just going to constantly watch me, when are you going to sleep?” Mallory asks over her cup of cheap coffee.

Michael’s gaze flits to her as he returns his attention to the conversation. Mallory’s lips twitch into a smirk at the unease shining in his eyes. She’s sure Mr. Perfect Langdon has never set foot in a greasy open-24-hours a day diner like this. He grimaces, his hands travelling to his thighs to iron out the imaginary creases in his expensive pants.

“I’ll find time.” He answers simply, staring at his own coffee in disgust.

She arches a brow. “When?”

“I don’t know.” He shrugs, finally pushing the cup away. “I don’t need much sleep anyway.”

“Because you’re the antichrist?” She asks bluntly.

He falters and his expression goes blank. It’s the first time they’ve mentioned it, the elephant in the room. More to the point, this is the first time they’ve even spoken more than five words to each other.

“Because I always took the nightshift at the Academy.” He corrects, voice even.

That makes her pause, sadness punching her in the gut.

“Do you think we’ll ever be able to go back?”

“That depends.”

“On what?”

His eyes seem to turn to a darker shade of blue. “On if there’s anything to go back _to_.”

Sickness joins the sadness swirling in the pit of her stomach.

“Can I ask you something?” He says after a beat, clasping his hands together and leaning back. They rest on the table and she doesn’t miss the way he grimaces in disgust when his precious skin touches the sticky surface.

“Sure.” She shrugs, taking another sip of coffee. She’s momentarily distracted when the waitress, a young girl with a disillusioned expression, comes over and practically throws her pancakes at her.

Mallory’s too hungry to care and she tucks in ravenously. After a moment, her gaze flickers to him as she waits expectantly for his question.

He’s staring at her, his eyes flitting from her face to the pancakes she’s pretty much devoured whole. He shakes his head slightly, as if to snap himself back into action.

“Why do you hate me so much?”

Mallory pauses at that, her fork suspended above her plate.

“I don’t…”

He interrupts her with a pointed head tilt.

“I don’t _hate_ you.” She sighs. “I don’t really know you.”

“You never tried to.”

He has a point there and her shoulders slump like she’s lost a battle.

“I know what happened in your past, what brought you to Cordelia.” She remembers Madison telling her the story – how he’d viciously thrust five carving knives into a butcher’s chest without so much as lifting a finger. “And I know what you are, _who_ you are. I guess I just don’t trust you.”

“I’m glad I’m risking my life for you then.” He says dryly, though she swears she sees something resembling hurt shining behind his sapphire eyes.

“Why are you?”

“What?”

She pushes her finished pancakes away. “It’s not like you’re _my_ biggest fan either. So why are you helping me?”

He pauses for a moment.

“Cordelia’s the only person in my life who’s never given up on me.” He says and his velvet voice, normally coated with honeyed suggestion, is the most serious she’s ever heard it. “She gave me a chance. A home. I would do anything she asked me to. Even if that means a road trip with the most irritating girl I’ve ever met.”

There’s a smirk pulling at his generous mouth and she can’t help the small chuckle that falls from her own.

His love for Cordelia is admirable. Thinking back, along with Kyle, he’s proven his loyalty to a coven full of women numerous times.

Mallory respects that.

Against all rational thought and for reasons completely inexplicable, she feels safe with him.

Not that she’d ever admit it, of course.  


* * *

  
Somewhere around San Antonio, her opinion of him shifts with the moon and tide.

They’re in a restaurant this time, Michael sick of greasy diners and 3am pit stops at practically abandoned gas stations. She rolls her eyes and calls him a pretentious dick, but really, she’s happy to wear the one dress she packed and to escape the leering gaze of beer-bellied truckers.

It’s been a few days now and they don’t stay in one place for long. They have to keep moving, keep running, even if makes her want to scream sometimes.

She’s picking at her pasta when she notices a table of giggling girls nearby, their eyes focused firmly on Michael. It reminds her of her days at the Coven, when the younger, more impressionable witches would try their hardest to avoid it but their eyes would always stray to him at the dinner table. Or, knowing how powerful he was, they’d try a new spell in the hopes of impressing him from where he stood in the doorway of their potions class.

“Doesn’t that get annoying?”

He glances up at her, confusion colouring his features before he follows her eye-line and catches on to what she means.

“I don’t care about things like that.” He says casually, finger rimming the edge of his glass.

She scoffs incredulously.

“What, the fact that you look like a freaking model doesn’t bother you?”

His brow quirks and his mouth tips up at the same time.

“You think I’m hot?”

Her cheeks burst into flames but there’s no point denying it. “As hot as the hell you came from.”

He smirks, but that’s exactly the point.

“That’s the point.” He verbalises the thought. “It’s all related. My looks… _gifts_ bestowed upon me by my father. Haven’t you heard what they say about the devil?”

“He’s an insufferable ass who screws anything that moves—”

“— _you_ haven’t had the luxury.”

“—and has a slightly unhealthy obsession with Tom Ford?”  

He chuckles easily before leaning forward, eyes fathomless pools of piercing blue.

“He’s beautiful… because he’s a fallen angel and he used to be God’s favourite. He doesn’t come dressed in a red cape and pointy horns. He comes as everything you’ve ever wished for.”

The intensity of his voice, low and velvet smooth, snags her breath in her throat.

She thinks about how she never wanted to be the next Supreme, how she never had a choice, then she thinks they’re not so different after-all.  
  


* * *

   
“You’re not sleeping in that bed with me.”

Mallory scoffs, wide-eyed, as they both stare at the double bed in-front of them.

“They didn’t have any single rooms.” Michael says evenly, but she can tell he’s tired from the drive. She still has no idea where they’re going or if he even has a destination in mind, but they’re somewhere around Phoenix now.

“We’ll have to go somewhere else.” She insists, crossing her arms over her chest.

He rolls his eyes and she registers the flex of his jaw.

“It’s 2am and I’ve been driving for hours. I’m exhausted. Don’t be such a prude.”

He brushes past her to collapse on the bed. He lets out a deep, satisfied sigh, crossing his arms over his head and his legs at the ankles.

“I am _not_ a prude.” She splutters. “I just like my own space.”

He stares at her, unimpressed, before rolling his eyes again and standing up.

“Whatever.” He grunts, too tired for their normal acerbic back and forth. He grabs a pillow and shoves it under his arm. “I’ll sleep on the floor.”

“Fine.” She grumbles, also too tired and stubborn to feel guilty.

He bumps her shoulder as he walks past.

She’s sure he did it on purpose.  
  


* * *

   
She wonders if he’s trying to torture her when he decides to take a shower before bed.

She tries to focus on the book she’s reading, her eyes glued to the page, but she can’t help her gaze from drifting up every few seconds or so, just like those little witches she used to make fun of.

He’s left the door cracked open, so he can keep an eye on her and be there if trouble calls. At least, that was his explanation. Mallory gets the feeling that he just likes to toy with her.

She can hear him humming a soft tune, the velvet sound joining the white noise of rushing water.

Eventually, the shower shuts off and the silence is deafening.

3 minutes later, he’s opening the door and standing with a towel hanging low on his narrow hips. Another towel ruffles through his hair, a darker blonde when it’s wet, and there’s a slight frown on his face.

Mallory’s mouth suddenly goes dry. It’s been a long time since she’s seen that much skin on a boy and even then, none of her teenage fumbles had a body like him. As he tosses the spare towel to the side and lifts his arm, his fingers threading through his hair, she watches the movement of his abs – lean muscles rippling under sun-kissed skin. His chest is strong, defined but not overly muscular, and her breath feels shallow as she follows a droplet down from his collarbone to his nipple to the sharply defined v that leads to—

“You’re staring.”

His smooth voice interrupts her reverie.

She crashes down to Earth with a sickening crunch.

A disbelieving scoff falls from her lips. “Please.” She rolls her eyes, her cheeks blossoming into heat. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Don’t need to.” He quips, pulling on a pair of casual joggers. He stays shirtless as he settles onto the floor and Mallory’s not sure whether she’s grieved or relieved at the decision. “You’re doing it enough for me.” He finishes with a smug sigh.

“I think you’re insufferable.”

“Feeling’s mutual, sweetheart.”

She narrows her gaze, peeking over the side of the bed. “Sleep well.” Her voice drips with sarcasm, knowing how uncomfortable he must be on the hard floor. It gives her an added sick thrill to remember how much he hates dirt and mess and, in-turn, what dubious stains must lie on the motel’s rented carpet. 

They lock eyes, blue on brown.

“I don’t understand why you automatically get the bed anyway.” He quirks a brow. “Isn’t old fashioned gallantry and chivalry dead in the eyes of the Coven? You’re as powerful as I am, after-all.”

She lays back on the pillow and scoffs again.

“Try _way_ more powerful, buddy.”

“Ha. Maybe when you grow up a bit, Miss Supreme.”

"When I _am_ the Supreme, I’m totally going to kick your ass.”

She feels, rather than hears, his quiet chuckle.

“We’ll see.”  
  


* * *

   
It’s around 4am when the guilt kicks in.

He doesn’t say anything but she can hear him shuffling, trying in vain to get comfortable. She closes her eyes again and sighs. He’s protected her for days, driven her across the country, the least she can do is give him a good night’s rest.

“Michael?” She whispers, knowing he’s awake.

“Yes?”

She grits her teeth, fighting back the nerves. “On second thoughts, it’s probably best you sleep up here. Don’t want you falling asleep at the wheel tomorrow.”

There’s a pause before a mop of blonde peeks up from the side of the bed.

She would laugh, were the atmosphere not so heady and electrically charged.

He doesn’t say a word as he slides in next to her.

In the dark, as she tries to settle her racing heart, she listens to his steady breathing. In, out, in, out – an even beat so different to hers. _She_ feels like her heart’s going to explode out of her chest and it doesn’t help when his fingertips touch hers.

She hopes he doesn’t hear her sharp intake of breath.

The air changes, thinning, pulsing hotter and burning brighter than before.

She waits for him to pull away, to mumble an apology – though, when is he ever embarrassed, ever sorry for anything? Instead, his hand opens and his fingers slowly entwine with hers. His palm to the back of her hand, his touch burns and she wonders whether he always runs this hot.

His touch stokes her nerves into a frenzy and she fights to calm the butterfly stutter of her heartbeat.

When she finally drifts off to sleep, she dreams of those hands between her legs. She dreams of lean fingers thrusting inside her, a slick thumb rubbing circles on her swollen clit. Then, she dreams of a bow-shaped mouth replacing that hand, a hot tongue lapping at her, piercing blue eyes glancing up as she clenches around him and falls apart. 

She never lets go of his hand – and when she wakes up, she’s mortified to realise her thighs are slick.   
  


* * *

  
It’s in California, when she finally glimpses the devil in him.

It’s been easy to forget, easy to coat over who he is, _what_ he is, but Mallory’s sure the memory will never leave her now.

They’re in a bar, Michael’s attempt at raising her spirits after a particularly hard day. With no news from Cordelia, her thoughts have been plagued by her sisters. Are they okay? Are they safe? She thinks the uncertainty might drive her mad.

They obviously still have to keep a low profile so the bar he’s chosen is hardly sophisticated. With antlers on the walls and cowboys hats everywhere, she guesses it’s going for some sort of Western theme, and she finds the whole thing pretty lame.

But _Michael’s having a great time,_ she thinks bitterly, as she watches him chat to a girl at the bar. He exudes confidence, his mouth tipped up into a lopsided smirk and his eyebrow quirked to match, and Mallory can’t see the girl’s face but she can tell she’s eating it up. She sees her hand twirling her straw and watches as her shoulders move with a giggle and she playfully slaps his chest.

An emotion Mallory refuses to recognise as jealousy tightens her chest. 

She’ll admit she’s a little drunk and she tries not to think about the disapproving look Cordelia would give them for using their powers of concilium on the bartender. She’s only two years off 21, after-all. Same goes for Michael, though she supposes that’s up for debate.

Suddenly his eyes lock with hers from over the girl’s shoulder and he sends her a cool smirk, tipping his drink to her along with his brow.

The band strikes up a tune and, irritated by the conflicting emotions coursing through her body, she lets herself be led onto the dance floor. A tall, somewhat scrawny, guy introduces himself as Gabe and she thinks about pushing him away, but then she sees Michael’s eyes lock with hers from the bar.

She registers the small clench of his jaw and the way his eyes seem to flash. He seems to look through the girl sitting at the bar with him, his pupils dilating.

She lets Gabe put his arms around her, sending him a flirtatious smile, because she wants to piss Michael off… because she craves the idea of him looking at her with something other than cool aloofness.

“So what’s your name?”

“Mallory.” She answers curtly.

“That’s an unusual name.”

She smiles politely, close lipped, then he twirls her suddenly.

She gasps in surprise and strong arms catch her, but they aren’t Gabe’s.

Michael gazes down at her, his arms curling around her waist as hers instinctually entwine around his neck. Her body reacts without permission, blossoming into heat, as she lets him lead her to the beat.

“You don’t mind, do you?” He asks, voice wrapping around the words sinfully.

She breathes a laugh. “No, you’re alright.”

“Good.” He tugs her closer, breast to breast, and she can feel every muscle of his lean body, tight against hers. His strong hands tighten around her waist and she can feel the power in them - thrumming, vibrating. It’s too much; it makes her dizzy.

An electricity that has nothing to do with their powers sparks between them. It’s so palpable she can almost taste it and when his darkened gaze flickers to her mouth, she fights the urge to lick her lips. She’s stunned, frozen in place by the intensity of his gaze as it flits between her mouth and eyes and when he begins to lean forward, it feels like there's a vice around her heart, squeezing tight.

Unfortunately, the forgotten Gabe chooses this moment to vent his frustration at being cuckolded.

“Dude!” He raises his voice obnoxiously, sending Michael’s brow travelling to his hairline. “Not cool. What’s your problem?”

He continues spitting venom, bringing attention to them. People begin to clear off the dance floor, nervous energy crackling around them. Mallory places a hand on Michael’s chest when Gabe takes a step towards them, upper lip curled.

Heated voices raised, when he dares to put his hands on Mallory and push her out of the way, Michael snaps.

His eyes roll and turn black. Not pupils dilating the way they do when he’s angry or turned on, but completely black, like a dark mist has enveloped him. His hands curl into fists at his side, so tight his knuckles turn white, and it makes Mallory’s stomach churn. Something passes over him and it’s pure evil. Mallory’s light, the goodness inside her, moans at the proximity and she fights a wave of sickness.

“No Michael.” She begs, taking his face in her hands. She notices how the fingers of his right hand are splayed, flexing, preparing – like he’s going to flick his wrist and break the boy’s neck any second. Mallory can’t have that blood on her hands, on _his_ hands.

“Look at me.” She tries to calm him down, fighting the urge to double over again at the next wave of darkness that passes over her. “It’s okay. Leave it. I’m fine. You don’t want to bring attention to us, do you?” She tries to appeal to his loyalty, his sense of duty.

That seems to do it. He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. When they open, pools of piercing blue stare back at her.

Relieved, she smiles up at him and it’s only then that she realises she’s crying.

They don’t have to be told to leave. She grabs his hand and pulls him outside. She shivers, curling her arms around herself, but it has nothing to do with the biting cold.

“I’m sorry.” Michael whispers and it’s the first time she’s ever heard him say the words. “I just get so _mad_.”

She nods and as she clasps his hand tighter, she hopes Cordelia would be proud.

Leave him to Mallory now.

She knows how to bring him back.


	2. Part II

It’s not real, the first time he kisses her.

Another night, another city, another motel – the monotony of it makes Mallory want to scream.

It’s boring, until it’s not.

They’re walking back to the motel, bathed in moonlight. It makes her feel relaxed for the first time in weeks and she sighs, contented.

Then he comes – the first witch-hunter.

Found at last.

Naturally, Michael senses him before she does. He freezes, his eyes flashing, and Mallory watches a muscle near his left ear click as he clenches the strong line of his jaw. Her brows pull together in a frown and she opens her mouth to speak, but then he’s grabbing her arm and pushing her against the wall.

His hand covers her squeak and the intensity of his eyes, the way they glint with seriousness, has her clenching her jaw shut. She stays silent as his head turns to the side, brow arched and gaze flickering as he seems to look for something.  Nestled in a corner, they’re half cloaked in darkness, but the image of a boy pinning a girl to the wall with his hand over her mouth obviously looks suspicious.

Footsteps echo in her ears, the sound fighting for dominance against the pounding of her own pulse, and Michael seems conflicted for a moment.

“ _Shit_.” He curses eventually as the man turns the corner.

Mallory goes to question him but his mouth covers her reply.

His kiss is hard, unrelenting. His mouth slants over hers, stealing her breath and her ability to overthink whatever the hell this is. Lust sparks at her heels, her blood turned to gasoline, and she acts on autopilot. She pauses for only a moment before her hands grip the lapels of his expensive jacket and she tugs him closer, as if to swallow him whole.

When she feels his tongue swipes across her bottom lip, she opens her mouth for him. It sweeps inside, tangling with hers, fighting for dominance. Her knees slightly buckle and he presses her against the wall, his hands electric where they cradle her face. With his mouth, he brings her to ruin and protects her at the same time, his body angling her, shielding her.

It’s only when she tilts her face and her eyes open that she sees the man walk past. He quickly averts his gaze, probably embarrassed to have caught them in a clear lover’s embrace. He heads for their room and her stomach drops with the realisation of who – what – he is.

The moment he’s gone, Michael breaks away from her mouth. She wants to whine at the loss of contact. He stares down at her, pupils blown to black, chest rising and falling faster than usual.

He had caged her in, hidden her, devised the perfect distraction in the spur of the moment. Even as strange disappointment stirs in the pit of her stomach, she’s thankful. 

It might have been fake.

But the fire in her core and the hardness that had pressed between her thighs… was not.   


* * *

  
Mallory barely has time to recover before another hunter finds her.

At first, Michael had been even more uptight than usual, not letting her out of his sight for so much as five minutes.  

Her need for coffee, however, had been too strong. The new hotel they stayed at had a broken machine and she demanded he go down the street to fetch her one. His jaw had clenched and his eyes flashed with irritation, but she swore she’d be fine for the whole ten minutes she was alone.

Besides, she needed to _breathe._ She was suffocating under the weight of his constant stare.

Soon enough, Mallory learns that a lot can happen in ten minutes.

It’s long enough for someone to force their way inside.

Long enough for a hunter looking for a witch to grab her by the hair and throw her into the (ironically) glass coffee table.

Long enough for her panicked energy to spike to a fire, exploding the room into light and launching a pen she’d been using for her daily crossword into his carotid artery. Before she knows what she’s doing, it’s lodged there, his eyes widening and blood spurting all over the white walls.

She stares, trembling, tears streaking down her flushed cheeks. On instinct, she rushes over to the body and her hands gather the blood, looking for any sign of life. She looks down at the red staining her skin and then she promptly throws up.

When Michael finds her, ten minutes later, just like he promised, the coffees fall to the floor, adding to the mess. There’s no need to check for a pulse, the blood pooling around the body, and he calmly steps over it.

He finds her curled up in the shower, her arms wrapping around her knees and holding them close to her chest. Fully clothed, the water gushes down and she doesn’t seem to realise – or care.

He says nothing. He just locks the door and shrugs out of his expensive jacket. He opens the cubicle door and doesn’t hesitate. He simply sits down next to her and lets the warm water bathe over his already burning skin.

The air is heavy with the weight of everything left unsaid.

“There’s blood on my hands.” She whispers after what seems like an eternity. “It won’t come off.”

The subtext behind her words is clear. Michael glances at her, expression steady, as he picks up her hand. If there was blood, it’s long washed away now. But still, he brings her fingers to his lips and gently kisses them.

His tongue wraps around the digits, absolving her of her sin. Eventually, kissing turns to licking which turns to sucking and, despite everything, it’s the most erotic experience of her life.

When he gifts her hands back to her, she’s stunned to see them clean.

“Better?” He asks quietly.

“Yes.”

Wordlessly, he puts an arm around her and pulls her close to his body.

She buries her face in his shoulder and sobs. It’s comforting, in this weird way. The water rains down and mixes with her tears and for a moment, it’s like she’s not crying at all.

“Michael.” Her voice is broken when she says his name into his shoulder. “I don’t know who I am anymore.”

“I do.” He says, ice blue eyes soft. “You’re Mallory. You’re kind and strong and more of a woman than anyone I’ve ever met.”

She releases a shaky sigh and closes her eyes. She curls into him, his arms rapidly becoming the only place she ever feels safe.

But the water's cold now, approaching freezing, and his hand reaches up behind him to shut it off.

The silence makes her cry harder.

Water sticks his designer clothes to his skin, ruining them.

He doesn’t care.   


* * *

  
It’s _very_ real, the second time he kisses her.

Something changes in her, the morning she takes a life. Michael registers the small differences - the black shine to her already dark eyes, the tense way she holds herself, the glazed look she gets when she thinks he's not looking.

She’s pulling away, lost to the blood and pain and red haze that constantly sears behind her eyes.

It infuriates him, how he doesn’t know how to help.

He doesn’t know what to do – especially when she’s storming away from him like this.

“Go away, Michael!” She raises her voice, not caring that they’re in a public car park. Rain pounds down, thunder exploding on the horizon, and Michael wants to roll his eyes at how dramatic the whole scene is, how maudlin.

“You know I can’t do that.” He keeps his voice calm, following her, keeping two steps behind. “Come on, Mallory. Come back inside.”

“No! If you won’t take me back, I’ll just find my own car and take myself.”

Her eyes glance around the lot frantically.

“By stealing?” He quirks a brow. “That isn’t you. _This_ isn’t you, Mallory.”

“What the fuck do you know?” She turns on her heel to face him, fire flashing in her eyes. “Just because we’ve been on this _stupid_ road trip for a couple weeks don’t presume you _know_ me.”

“I _do_ know you.” He takes a step towards her. “Whether you like it or not, we’re connected now.”

She scoffs incredulously and her bottom lip trembles. There’s moisture on her cheeks and he can’t tell whether her eyelashes are wet from the rain or tears.

“I have to know they’re okay.” Her voice breaks on a sob. _Tears, it is._ “Michael, if they found me, they probably found them too. I can’t just _sit_ here, not knowing if they’re dead or alive.”

“That’s exactly what you have to do.” He insists, her stubbornness stoking his anger. “Cordelia’s instructions were clear. We have to keep moving, you can’t go back.”

“You don’t know anything. You don’t understand.” She shrugs, her top lip curling into a sneer. “How could you? You’re not one of us.”

He recoils, like she’s physically struck him, and blinks against the rain.

“That’s not fair.” He says quietly. “I have given the Coven – given _you –_ everything I have. I have proven my loyalty and my dedication over and over again. You have no right to say that to me.”

Numb, she feels nothing at the hurt shining behind his eyes. She has no idea how deep her words cut. Suddenly it hits her with the impact of a freight train.

The Academy was his home too – the only safe haven he’d ever known. A place without judgement, where he was _trusted,_ where he could forget what he was.

For those few years, his life was _steady._ He could move, he could _breathe_ , without fear of the ground turning to quicksand beneath his feet. She’s been so wrapped up in herself, she hasn’t allowed herself to see that he’s hurting too.

“I don’t need you to protect me.” She hides her pain behind a mask. “I think I proved I’m more than capable of protecting myself when you weren’t there—”

“—don’t.” He practically snarls.

“—when you weren’t there and I _murdered_ that man.” Her breath snags, the words like bullets from a gun. “I killed him, Michael. I understand that’s not interesting or _new_ to you, but it is to me.”

“I know, Mallory. I’m not trivialising it.”

“Of course you are.” She spits and she doesn’t care that the rain is sticking her hair to her forehead or that her teeth are practically chattering from the cold. “Oh, a corpse? Just another Monday to you. Why _would_ you care?”  

“Because you do.”

She falters at that before constructing her walls high around her.

“You’d be able to feel it.” He continues, trying to reason with her before she can argue again. “One supreme dies, another rises. Remember? Her power would flow into you.”

She doesn’t _feel_ any different. She doesn’t look any different. She remembers how the supremacy restored Cordelia’s eyesight, bringing back her fathomless pools of kind chocolate brown. Her skin became radiant and her blonde locks seemed to glow.

Drenched in the rain, Mallory certainly doesn’t _feel_ radiant. Purplish blue mottles the skin under her eyes and the rest of it is practically grey, sleep deprived and malnourished. But—

“We don’t know that for certain. I can’t take any chances.”

She turns away from him again, her sneakers kicking puddles of muddy water as she storms off.

An exasperated noise falls from his lips as he takes after her.

“Mallory, it’s freezing. Just come inside, we can talk.”

“I don’t want to talk to you.”

“Damn it, Mallory!” He raises his voice for the first time and it stokes her fury.

She stops and spins around, so abruptly that she almost slams straight into his chest. She takes a step back and fire flashes through her eyes.

“How about you stop pretending to give a _shit_ about me?” She spits, one finger jabbing angrily at his chest. “This is a _job_ for you. One that is now meaningless if Cordelia’s dead.”

“I made a promise.” He argues but the reasoning falls flat.

“Who cares?!”

“I do.” His brows pull into a frown and he wants to pull his hair out when she angrily exhales and takes off _again._

“Mallory, will you just—” His voice trails off on a growl.

“What?” She spits, turning around again.

Time seems to stand still before something snaps. He closes the gap between them in three strong strides, grabs her face and crashes his mouth to hers.

Her world – upside down and out of focus for so long – snaps into place.  
 

* * *

  
They’re a tangled mess of mouths and limbs as they stumble through the door.

It's all teeth and tongues, want and desperate need; there's nothing gentle about this.

He lugs her inside, strong arms crushing her body to his and lifting her feet off the floor as he slams the door shut behind him. She’s up against it before she can blink, her lips tingling from the onslaught of his punishing mouth.

He trails hot, open-mouthed kisses down the length of her neck and her head tips back, hitting the wall with a little too much force. She can’t bring herself to care as her fingers thread in his golden curls. She can’t count the amount of times she’s dreamed about how his hair would feel in her hands; it had started to become an obsession. Now he’s _here_ and she can feel him and touch him and smell him and her mind can’t quite make sense of how this is happening.

Not that he gives her any time to.

His mouth reclaims hers again and she’s cut open, laid bare and bleeding before him, and there’s nothing she can do about it. His tongue swipes over her bottom lip, demanding an entry she’s all too happy to grant, and every movement of the muscle sparks between her legs.

Without detaching from her mouth, he leans down, grabbing under her thighs and pulling her legs up to curl around his waist. The movement has her gasping, her rain-soaked shoes soaring across the room. He presses her harder against the wall as his mouth slants over hers fiercely. He pours every confusing feeling he’s had over the past couple of weeks into her – last couple of years, truth be told.

He’s been broken for so long, shrouded in a fog so thick he can’t remember what it feels like to breathe clean air – now she breathes fresh life into him. His lips press into hers, hard and desperate, fighting for a control that’s quickly slipping through his fingers for the first time in his life.

It feels satisfying – to submit to something that’s been building for so long. When she breaks away from his mouth with a gasp and feels him hard between her thighs, everything pulses hotter, burning brighter than before. He whispers her name and she comforts him the only way she knows how, pressing her lips to the underside of his jaw and tasting stubble and rain and maybe tears.

When she returns to his face, his eyes are penetrating.  

She grabs his hands and entwines his fingers with hers. The intensity of his gaze tightens her chest and she feels like she can’t breathe, but she won’t speak. She feels like she’s balancing on a knife’s edge and she doesn’t want to ruin this.

Like he can read her mind, he kisses her again and walks backwards. She clings to him like a monkey, wet and trembling, and when his knees hit the bed, he lowers himself. She settles on his lap, skin blossoming into heat at the sensation of his erection pressing against her rapidly dampening core, and her hands go to his face.

Her fingers splay on his sharp cheeks, slowly trailing down to his jawline. He watches her watch him and she’s suddenly struck by how beautiful he is. It’s silent for a moment, the atmosphere heady and intense.

Then he’s all over her.

Kissing her everywhere, neck, lips, cheek, nose, ears, eyelids, his hands roam all over her. She feels new but so familiar at the same time and he’s pulling at her clothes, desperate to feel her skin against his. She echoes the sentiment, trembling fingers undoing the buttons of his wet shirt and pushing it off his shoulders. He tugs her own top over her head and he’s attacking her neck before it even hits the floor, making quick work of her bra too.

He touches her briefly, rolling the hard peak of her nipple between his thumb and forefinger, before his hands move to her back and crush her tighter against his chest. Without breaking away from her mouth, he shifts her upwards, rolling her onto her back and covering her with his body. He's all marble, strong and smooth, and as he readjusts them, she feels the full length of his hard cock pressing into her wetness, where she needs it most.

Lust snaps at her heels as he tugs her jeans down her legs and off. It brings her back to Earth and she pulls at his belt, removing it from the loops and divesting him of his own pants. It all falls to the floor with wet plops and it’s the only sound penetrating the heavy silence. Her hands land on his strong shoulders as he presses his cock harder into her, frustrated at the thin layer of fabric still separating them.

When he removes her panties and presses his fingers into her in one fell swoop, she can’t help but break the silence.

“ _Michael_.” She whispers his name like a prayer – a benediction - and his mouth swallows her moan.

When he finally pushes inside her, it sure as hell feels like love.  


* * *

  
"Michael.”

His name is a symphony now. It’s like the flood gates have been opened and it’s all she can say. For the past 2 hours, she’s moaned it, screamed it, practically sobbed it… now it’s a whisper. 

He glances up at her from his position between her legs. His expression is one of admiration and respect and it steals the breath from her lungs. She’s never felt more exposed, and she’s not talking literally. A smile she can’t help but return slowly curls the corners of his lips and she finds the sight of a _whole_ Michael (not fractured, not broken) incredibly sexy.

He blows cool air on her throbbing clit and her head falls back to the pillow with a groan. He’s relentless. She’s always known he’s a quick learner, his brilliant, endlessly curious mind working at twice the speed of everyone else’s, but this is just ridiculous. He reads her like a book, knows what movement – lick, suck, bite – will bring her closer to the edge. He plays her like his favourite instrument, buried between her thighs and driving her to heights of pleasure she can barely stand.

“ _God._ ” She exhales in a choked sigh, her breath tangled.

She feels, more than hears, his chuckle against her wetness. Her hips buck against his mouth and her cunt clenches at the sound.

“Not quite.”

Then, he licks a hot stripe up her slit and captures her clit between his teeth. She grabs at his hair, pulling too tight for a regular human. He eats loudly, crudely, stoking her desire – and his face is slick with it. The sight of it, along with the vibration of his hum against her and the intensity of his blazing eyes when they glance up and meet her heated gaze, has her tumbling over the edge with a strangled cry.

He holds her silently while she breaks apart, wave upon wave of pleasure crashing over her and leaving white stars exploding behind her eyes.

“So…” He murmurs eventually, climbing up her body and placing a gentle kiss on her lips. She tastes herself on his tongue and fresh pangs of lust snap at her. “Will you stay?”

She laughs incredulously, still trembling in the afterglow.

“I don’t know…” She whispers, opening her legs wider and bucking sensitively against him when his hard length presses into her again. “I might need a little more persuading.”

He chuckles against her mouth and enters her slowly this time, inch by inch. She feels tears spring to her eyes—it's too much, too intense. It's everything.

He fucks like he fights – smooth, confident, self-assured. She clutches onto his shoulders like he's the only thing keeping her grounded and he curls a hand around the back of her knee, hitching the leg that's still trembling from the aftershocks of her orgasm higher on his hip. The angle allows him to slide deeper and she hisses, feeling full and happy for the first time in _she can’t remember when_.

The room seems to swirl with the energy of their combined powers, fine winding tendrils that weave together and fit like pieces of a puzzle.

When his hips snap harder and his eyes start to gloss over, she pulls him back from the brink.

“I’m here.” She whispers, her fingers gently tracing from his cheek down to his jaw. “Stay with me.”

When he comes, he spills everything into her.

All the pain and heartache, the loneliness and anger, the tears he can never bring himself to cry and the love, unreciprocated from everyone, that he’s harboured all his life… he gives to her. He wants her to have it, to take it from him, to heal him. She’s the only one who can.

This little witch… a girl who’s shown him the best and worst of a world that never loved him.

They collapse together, tangled in sheets and tired limbs. It won’t fix everything, won’t come close.

But it’s enough for now.  


* * *

  
"I used to try to impress you.”

He murmurs one evening as the moon shines through the window and bathes them in warm light.

“Hmm?” Her answer is groggy, hazed with pleasure from the multiple orgasms he’s given her tonight.

“I thought you hated me.”

“I hated that you wouldn’t give me the time of day…and I hated how much that bothered me. I had all these witches literally falling at my feet, begging for my attention, but you barely spared me a glance when you walked past.”

“Classic male.” Mallory rolls her eyes. “Pining after the one female who doesn’t want him.”

“I never said I pined.”

She smirks in reply, adjusting her head so she can see him better. She’s lying on her front, arms crossed over the pillow and cheek resting on them. His finger lazily trails electric heat down the length of her naked spine.

“Still, you were the only witch whose power came even close to mine. I was intrigued.” He says softly, quirking a brow. “And I’m glad we could finally get the stick out your ass.”

She slaps his arm but the action has no malice in it.

“What about Cordelia?”

He makes a grimacing face. “She’s like my Mom.”

Mallory laughs on an exhale, twisting around so she’s hovering over his body. She smirks at the feel of him immediately hardening between her legs.

“I can totally imagine you as a toy boy.”

He just smirks in reply.

“Kiss me.”  


* * *

   
Cordelia finds her just as she decides to let her go.

It’s anticlimactic, in the end. Not that Mallory’s going to complain.

The Supreme contacts Michael telepathically – a connection shared by just those two. She tells him it’s safe to come home, that the hunters have been defeated. Something dark stirs in the pit of his stomach, obsessive and possessive, and for a moment, he considers not telling her. He wants to keep her this way, just for him.

But the light wins out.

He wants to go _home._

Her smile has never been brighter when he tells her – and she jumps into his arms like they’re in one of those cheesy rom coms that Kyle used to complain Zoe made him watch.

“Thank _god._ ” She sighs, legs wrapped around him. “You’ve worn out too many good pairs of Louboutins running from those assholes.”

He chuckles against her mouth when she kisses him.

But something’s got to give and although they’re happy to be going home, the safe bubble they’ve been in, the little world they’ve created… it’s all going to change.

His kiss doesn’t feel like a celebration.

It feels like a goodbye.  


* * *

  
When she climbs the steps to the entrance of the mansion, Mallory feels like her legs might give way.

Luckily, Michael’s there to catch her and his fingers silently entwine with hers. It’s strange, but the way his hand burns as it envelopes her much smaller one…  that’s become home to her even more than the house in-front of her.

If Cordelia notices when she swings the door open, it doesn’t show. She just grabs them both, a strangled sob falling from her lips, as she holds them tight.

She drags them inside and doesn’t let go.

“I missed you so much.” She whispers into Mallory’s hair.

Mallory squeezes her eyes shut, hot tears rolling down her flushed cheeks.

“I missed you too.”

When Cordelia finally breaks away, she turns to Michael and holds out her hand. He takes it without hesitation, without question, because he’s always been a slave to her affection and this is as natural as breathing to him.

She places a soft kiss on his forehead.

“Thank you, Michael. Thank you for keeping her safe.”

“It was my pleasure.”

The reunions don’t get any easier after that. There’s a lot of tears, a lot of anxiety and sadness, but there’s hope too. There’s happiness that they’re all safe, here, together.

Madison and Myrtle say the fight was pretty brutal. They lament the fact that they couldn’t get hunter’s blood out of their nails (Madison) and the carpet (Myrtle) for days.  But in the end, they were no match for the witches. Mallory kicks herself for ever doubting them. When Zoe tells her she was lucky she got away, that she was able to avoid the bloodshed, she thinks she’ll wait for another time to tell her about her run in with her own witch hunter.

Across the room, her eyes lock with Michael’s, as Kyle pulls him into a man-hug.

She has more important things to deal with first.  


* * *

   
“So… I guess things are back to normal, huh?”

Michael says from the doorway of her room, arms crossed over his chest as he leans against the frame.

“Yep.” Mallory says without turning around, trying to feign a nonchalance she doesn't feel. She continues to unpack, her mouth curving into a smile when she notices the packet of Reese’s Peanut Buttercups that he managed to sneak in her suitcase. “Everything is the way it’s supposed to be.”

Her very being screams at the wrongness of that idea.

The air feels different now. Things _aren’t_ the same. Last time she was here, he was just _Langdon_ , the annoyingly arrogant, quippish guard-dog of the Coven. The pure evil antichrist, a ticking time bomb. Simple.

Now, she can’t imagine how she lived with him, but without him, for so long.

How had she survived that?

How had everything she’s ever been looking for been right under her nose the entire time?

She feels the need to tell him that.

“Michael…” She turns around and the sight of him makes her want to cry. “I just wanted to say thank you… for everything. I don’t know how I would’ve gotten through the last few weeks without you.”

He shrugs, like it was nothing – when it was everything.

“You’re Mallory.” He says like that’s explanation enough. “You would’ve been just fine.”

“Still…” She pauses, the atmosphere thickening with the weight of everything she can’t bring herself to say. “I hope you know what you mean to me.”

He nods, something unspoken passing between them.

“You too.”

Then he’s gone, everything back to normal.

It shouldn’t make her cry – but it does.  


* * *

  
Less than an hour later, she’s wrapping a towel around herself when his magic is opening her door.

Suddenly he’s just there, standing like he never left.

“Michael!” She exclaims with a start, clutching the material to her chest like he hasn’t seen every part of her inside and out. “Jeez, knock much?”

He looks weary, more nervous than she’s ever seen him and the pit of her stomach falls through.

“What is it?”

She watches the movement of his Adam’s apple as he swallows.

“Michael, what is it?” She repeats. “You’re scaring me.”

He runs a hand through his hair, punishing the curls.

“I don’t want things to go back to the way they were.” He says suddenly, the words coming out too fast.

Her chest tightens, the hairs on the back of her neck and arms standing on end. “What do you mean?”

“I mean…” He takes a step towards her and his hand kind of reaches out before he pulls it back. “I want to give this a shot. I want to try.”

He looks at her again, eyes darker than usual, and suddenly it hurts to breathe.

“You mean us?”

“Yes.” He says. “Us. Me and you.”

“We’re home now, Michael. I—”

“—you are my home.” He replies without missing a beat, stealing the breath from her lungs. The intensity of it brings tears springing to her eyes.

“Look, it won’t be easy.” He continues, “I wouldn’t want it to be. I’ll be selfish sometimes. I’m not always going to _get it_ – and I’m going to need you more than you need me.”

He’s talking about the darkness, the fact that he’ll need her to pull him back from the brink sometimes. His father isn’t going to let him forget about his destiny, his purpose. There are going to be times when it overwhelms him. It’ll be too much.

But then Mallory looks at him – _really_ looks at him - and she realises she wants to take the chance. She wants him to know that he _matters._  Most of all, she wants him to feel warm and happy and safe, more than she wants it for herself.

“Okay.” She whispers tearfully.

“Yeah?” His eyes flash and his mouth splits into a blinding smile.

She mirrors it. “Yeah. We can try.”

He’s kissing her within the next five seconds.

She holds onto his forearms as he cradles her face. He kisses her softly, like she’s the only thing keeping him anchored to the Earth, like they have all the time in the world.

Maybe they do.

And two days later, when he whispers “I love you” into her skin, it feels like a warm and familiar welcome home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your lovely reviews! I hope you liked this chapter as much as the first. I'm happy some of you liked the concept and expressed sadness over it being two chapters but... Coven!Michael and long haired Michael are my favourite Michaels... so watch this space! I'm not done with AHS yet...


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